A Thousand Sweet Kisses Goodnight
by The Vintage Moose
Summary: Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet modernized through the substitution of the main eight characters of the Broadway Musical, RENT. Act I, Scene i thru Act II, Scene iii are available for R&R.
1. Act I, Scene i

Well, I can certainly say that penmanship has eluded me lately. I haven't been inspired to write anything in a really long time; too much stress going on right now to have any true creative juices flowing. However, I was cleaning out my closet, getting rid of things I won't be taking with me to the dorms at school, and I found my No Fear Shakespeare collection. My friends bought me a set for my birthday, because Shakespeare and I have the same birthday, and I am a big fan of his work. So, I started reading through Romeo and Juliet, and somehow managed to become inspired. I don't know how this is going to work, but I will post it none the less.

* * *

**CAST  
**Acting as Romeo: Roger Davis**  
**Acting as Juliet: Mimi Marquez  
Acting as Rosealine: April Ericsson  
Acting as The Nurse/Friend: Angel Dumott Schunard  
Acting as Friar Lawrence/Peter (the Messenger)/Friend: Tom Collins  
Acting as Benvolio: Mark Cohen  
Acting as Paris/Tybalt: Benjamin Coffin III  
Acting as Mercutio/Friend/Randomized other roles: Maureen Johnson  
Acting as Friend/Randomized other roles: Joanne Jefferson**

* * *

Act I, Scene I**

"Morning," Mark Cohen smiled encouragingly as his best friend, Roger Davis, trudged out of his room and into the living room, landing on the couch looking exhausted and care-worn.

"Is it really only morning?" Roger asked with a sigh as he buried his head in an accenting pillow.

"It's about nine o' clock," Mark sighed as he looked down at the red-lit numbers on their small, electric coffee pot, "Feeling any better?"

"Hardly. It seems like time drags when you're in pain."

"Roger—I know that losing—"

"You _don't_ know!" Roger cried helplessly, tears streaming down his face as he curled up on the couch, hiding his pain in the safety of a pillow, hiding his hurt from Mark's sympathetic eyes, "She was my everything, Mark! My friend, my lover, _my life_! And now she's gone! She's gone and I can never get her back!"

Mark fell silent and allowed Roger to collect himself some minutes later; only after Roger had managed to wrestle away the last of his tears with his pajama-sleeve, did Mark attempt to console him, "Roger, I know that losing April is a terrible thing; I'll miss her, too, Roger. She was my friend, too," he stopped and took a deep breath, "but what she did, Roger; what she did was thoughtless, and cowardly—"

"Shut _up_!"

"and it hurt everyone that cared about her. Think about her parents, think about her sister and little brother; think about yourself, about me. She didn't care enough about any of us to hold on, no matter how bad it seemed. That's powerfully moving stuff, Roger."

"Why don't you get it on camera then?" Roger snarled viciously.

"Roger, that's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

"You need to find a way to accept this; you need to find a way to accept and put aside the grief. It's been four months, Roger." Mark sighed again, knowing he'd said his piece, whether or not it was in vain.

Minutes passed while Roger stared out the windows, sunlight pouring onto the dirty floors of their apartment on Avenue A.

"Someone said that what is sad, is that love is supposed to be blind, but love can manipulate you into doing whatever it wants—"

"I think that was Shakespeare—"

"But he was wrong; love comes from nothing. Love is contradictory; it's sadness and happiness, intelligence and stupidity, both beautiful and ugly—it's everything except what it is supposed to be."

"If love is blind, it leaves it impartial. That's why it can be all those things at once," Mark added quietly, subdued by his thoughts of what Roger had observed, tears slowly forming behind the lenses of his glasses. His head swam with past arguments with Roger over love and truth, "_Facing the fact you live a lie; you pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive_."

"Mark?"

He shook his head, looking up through blurry eyes and forcing a smile, "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" Roger asked as he got up and joined him in the kitchen.

"I'm—I just, I know how you feel."

"I'm—I'm sorry, Mark, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's fine. I just _understand_ now."

"Thanks," Roger said, turning and walking towards his bedroom.

"Wait, Roger," Mark called, wiping away his tears, "Let's get out of here; get some lunch or something. It might make you feel better."

"I can't stop thinking about her." Roger sighed heavily, more shadows of sadness emphasizing how old he looked in the wake of her death.

"'Teach me to forget to think.'"

"What?"

"Sorry, it was from _Romeo and Juliet_; you paraphrased lines earlier," Mark half-smiled, "C'mon, Roger, just give me lunch."


	2. Act I, Scene ii

I forgot my disclaimers last time, so here they are:

I am not Jonathan Larson's incarnate.

I am not the creator, owner, partner in ownership, or in any way tied to any of the business dealings therein attached to the powerfully inspiring Broadway Production, RENT. The only things I _do_ own are the ideas presented herein this fanfiction, and the wonderful products of said musical: a copy of the official Broadway Recording of RENT (1996 cast edition), RENT the Movie (on DVD), and various soundtracks of the same subject and title.

* * *

**Act I, Scene II**

Mr. Indigo Marquez was sitting back in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk, when Benjamin Coffin III had entered his office with one of the most interesting business propositions he'd ever heard.

"Mr. Marquez, there is no doubt that you've heard of my present legal situation," Benjamin, or Benny, as he had insistently asked Indigo to call him, had started with an air of satisfaction, "And I can assure you that Allison Grey and I are divorcing for clearly amicable reasons."

"Mr. Coffin—"

"Benny."

Indigo sighed, "Benny, I am not interested in your current state of marital occupancy."

"Right," Benny nodded, "I'm sorry. Allow me to continue.

"You see, Mr. Marquez, I have been a friend of your daughter's for quite some time; years. I allowed for my marriage to Allison to separate Mimi and I romantically, but my feelings have never changed. As per our prenuptial agreement, I will be receiving a rather large sum of money from my divorce."

"Is there a point to this, Benny?"

"Yes, Sir; I am willing to offer you a nice amount of money in exchange for Mimi's hand in marriage."

"You're trying to buy my daughter?"

"Just the right to marry her, Sir."

Indigo was a businessman, but a father first and foremost, and to automatically assign her to marry someone without her consent was beastly of him, "I cannot just say, 'Yes, here she is,' and give her to you. This is the 21st century, Benjamin; she's a girl with a mind of her own, with choices and opinions; I can't tell her what to do anymore. She may only be nineteen, but she is a woman and a mature adult, capable of making her own decisions."

"I see," Benny remarked, obviously stunned by his inability to charismatically manipulate Indigo Marquez into submission. _This one is smarter than I thought_, "I'm willing to offer you twenty-five thousand dollars up front, twenty-five thousand dollars after we are wed."

_Fifty-thousand dollars_? Indigo could not help himself but to think of all that he could do with the money being offered; they weren't poor, but fifty-thousand dollars could provide enough financial stability to assist his younger children in college, to pay off the remaining finances on their home, their cars—but was signing away his daughter worth that amount of money?

"Listen, we're having a Halloween party at my home this evening; many business partners will be there, my family, Mimi. Join us tonight; I can't just give her to you, but if you can get her to agree to marry you, then you have my consent."

As soon as the words were out, a briefcase full of money laid open before him, a smiling Benny stood, "Thank you, I'll be sure to attend," an air of accomplishment somehow seemed present as he headed toward the door, "Oh, and it was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Marquez."

* * *

"I never thought I would be the one to tell you this, but I think you should play more shows," Mark was saying between bites of an Italian sub-sandwich, "I mean, you could meet more girls, get your mind around this whole—"

"The last thing I need is another girl; look at how messed up I am over April! I'll only use a new girl to move past my grief, and then what? I'll never be able to commit again," Roger explained, waving a fork filled with Ragu-covered linguini around as he simplified the impending scenario, "So, for the time being, playing more shows is out of the question."

"I'm only trying to help; the best way to fight fire is with fire. You've got to do what's been done to you in order to undo the effects of it, or something like that," Mark smiled as he jumbled his words, "In a not-so-literal way, of course; I don't need you to freak and do something drastic."

"Like kill myself?"

"Yeah," Mark sighed heavily before taking another bite out of his sandwich, hoping to distract himself from the negative turn of conversation.

"How did you manage to get him out of the house?"

"Caw-rins!" Mark exclaimed happily as he tried to swallow his mouthful of food, "Collins! What's up?"

"Just on break; in between classes, thought I might stop down here at the Live Café and snag something to eat," Tom Collins smiled as he took up a chair, "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty shitty," Roger half-smiled, extending a hand for a hearty shake, "And yourself?"

"I'm suffering from the strain of Actual Reality, but I think I'll live," he smiled encouragingly, much in the manner that Mark had hours earlier, "what are you two up to today?"

"I'm attempting to cheer him up," Mark sighed.

"I'm attempting to be a pain in the ass," Roger half-laughed.

"You're succeeding."

The two sat in comfortable silence while Collins placed his order, taking sips of water every now and then.

"So, it's safe to assume that you aren't going to be busy tonight?" Collins inquired as he shifted in his seat, "Because I have been invited to a very swank gala at the Marquez Mansion this evening, and would hate to attend it alone."

"I don't know—" Roger started.

"That would be great! That's just what we needed;" Mark smiled, "What type of party? Are we going to need to dress up?"

"According to this invitation, it's a Masquerade Ball; full costume required," Collins smiled, "I think Roger should go as Don Juan."

"Because I _so_ look the part," Roger glared at the invitation in front of him, "I couldn't; I'm not in the mood to go to a Halloween party."

"Roger, please?"

Roger sighed, "I hate it when you do that puffy-lip thing."

"I think that's a yes," Collins laughed as his food finally arrived and he tucked in to eat.


	3. Act I, Scene iii

**Act I, Scene III**

Mercedes Marquez was torn. Having just gotten off the phone with Indigo, her husband, and having just found out that he had inadvertently sold their eldest daughter, Mimi, into marriage with a wealthy entrepreneur, she was torn between doing what would be most beneficial to her family and what would be right for Mimi.

_Indigo had said fifty-thousand dollars, _she thought, _we could put the rest of our children through school, pay off the house, the cars-but Mimi, oh, we can't just force her to marry someone, just because they are willing to buy her off of us._

"Mrs. Marquez?" Angel Dumott Schunard, Mimi's best friend and roommate, asked inquisitively.

"Oh, Angel," Mercedes covered with a weak smile, "I didn't see you there."

"Are you okay, Mrs. M?" Angel asked as she strolled across the room and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "You look a little flushed."

"Oh, I just—" She smiled again, trying to cover her worry, "I was just wondering if you had seen Mimi at all this morning; I know she went out to shop for a costume for tonight's party."

"We just got back from the costume shop; I think she's still in her bedroom."

"Thank you, I've been meaning to speak to her about something very important," Mercedes said detachedly as she made her way out of the office and to the stairs.

"Mimi? You still up there?" Angel called, slightly jarring Mrs. Marquez as she took the steps up to the second floor.

"Yeah, just trying on my costume!"

The opened the whitewashed door and revealed a very festive Mimi, dressed as what had been labeled as a "Seductive Witch." Her unruly, mouse-brown curls were tamed by Angel's expensive flat iron, hanging long and full behind her shoulders. She wore a tight, black spandex dress over her thin frame, accentuating the curves of her hips as it ended halfway on her thighs. Her bronzed skin seemed to glow against the inky color of the dress, whose bell-sleeves hung dramatically, hiding her small hands. She was slipping a violent purple-colored belt around her slender waist when her mother clucked disapprovingly.

"All your fathers' business partners will be at this party! How are you going to show up dressed like a festive hooker?"

"Mama, _please,_" Mimi rolled her eyes, "my friends will be at this party, too."

"Yes, well, only because your father couldn't handle your pouting," Mercedes tapped her foot anxiously, "and it is high time you grew out of that."

Angel cleared her throat, trying to ease the tension in the room and remind the two women of her presence.

"Oh, Angel-dear, I need to speak to Mimi about something. Could you give us a moment, please?" Mercedes smiled, the type of smile that was reserved for when someone had something unpleasant to talk about.

"Mama, Angel is my best-friend; there are no secrets between friends," Mimi shook her head.

"Well, if you want," she sighed before taking a seat on the edge of Mimi's bed, "You are getting older now, Sweet-pea, and since you have shown no real interest in furthering your education, your father and I are becoming concerned with your lack of interest in settling down."

"Oh, Mama—I'm too young to be getting married! I'm only nineteen!"

"That's ancient in these times, Baby; I was married at sixteen, and you were born shortly thereafter," Mercedes remembered as she patted Mimi's silken hair, "and many girls your age are married with children now, especially those girls that don't plan on going to college."

"Who said I don't plan on going to college?" Mimi countered angrily, "Just because I'm not ready now doesn't mean I won't be ready to enroll for the summer."

"Sweet-pea, the only reason I'm bringing all this up is because I just got off the phone with your father a little while ago, and it seems that a nice young man would like to marry you."

_There, I said it, _Mercedes thought. The look of confusion on Mimi's face jarred her slightly, "Oh, his name is Benjamin. I think your father said he was in the middle of a divorce from one of the Grey girls; Allison, I think."

Mimi looked disgusted, "_Benny?_"

"Oh, so you know him!"

"Mama, you don't remember Benny?" Mimi asked as she started up, pacing the floor, "Mama, I dated Benny _for months_, remember? Tall, dark skin, dark eyes, very charming?"

"Oh! He was such a nice boy," she recalled fondly, "why did you two ever break up?"

"We were just too good of friends, Mama. I'd known him from grade-school, grown up with him; I consider him a brother, not a boyfriend. I could never marry him; it would be too weird." Mimi shook her head violently, as if trying to forcibly erase any thoughts of marrying Benjamin Coffin III.

"Oh, but Mimi, he is very much in love with you; you should've heard the things your father told me," Mercedes smiled dreamily, "you have never given him a chance, Baby; you've always viewed him as a friend, and never in another light—"

"Because I'm not _attracted_ to him, Mama!"

"Maybe if you took the time to see his finer qualities, to see how good of a guy he would be for you, you might be attracted to him!"

"I highly doubt it," Mimi said as she huffed angrily, "and what is Daddy doing, talking to Benny anyway?"

_Crap! _"They ran into each other at a business luncheon," _Yes!_ Mercedes covered, "Benny is trying to open up that cyberstudio he had drafted up in high school."

"Oh."

"Your father invited him to the Halloween party tonight," Mercedes remembered and added before heading towards the door, "why not talk to him? Get reacquainted? You might find that you like him better this time around."

As soon as she left, Mimi turned to Angel, who had remained silently stunned throughout the entire conversation, "Are we talking about the cue-ball with the big nose?"

"Angel!"

"What?"

"Well, you're right about the cue-ball part—" Mimi smiled, "and the nose part, too."

"Oh, well, he's not too bad on the eyes, Mimi," Angel shrugged, "I mean, he seems too—uptight. He wouldn't be good for much more than his money."

"I think that's what my mother was talking about," Mimi said quietly, as though she hadn't meant to say it out loud. She shook her head again, "It's getting close to sunset; the party will be starting soon. You should probably get ready."

Angel grabbed her bag and toted off to the adjoining bathroom while Mimi added the finishing touches to her costume. As she readied the pointed hat to place on her head, she gave the mirror a seductive wink and sighed, _I'll look at him and try to like him, at least, if what I see likable. Knowing Benny, I wouldn't be able to fall for him even if he were the last guy on this planet._


	4. Act I, Scene iv

I realized a time-miscalculation in my story. In the earlier chapters, I mentioned April's death as being recent. This is not-so-much a good idea. I will still use the death as relatively recent, perhaps in terms of months instead of weeks. The death, if it happened only weeks ago, would be too fresh and this story wouldn't really be happening. I went back to the earlier chapter and changed it accordingly. From here on in, April's death was four months prior to the tune of the morning in which this story began, which would leave Roger around "four months of withdraw," two months before RENT would have taken place.

Also, thanks to all the gals who left me comments and encouragement. Without you, this chapter wouldn't have been possible. It's all for you; enjoy!

* * *

**Act I, Scene IV**

The Marquez Mansion was an Old-English styled Tudor house; deep red brick, two stories tall, squared, white-paned windows and doors, with a professionally up kept garden area that spanned the length and width of the lot. The white iron gates were being held open invitingly; a strong presence seemed to be drawing each guest into the house. Roger, still unsettled in his state of upset, leaned against one of the entrance columns, brooding, while Mark paced lines in the driveway. 

"Where is Collins?" Mark asked to nobody in particular, checking his watch anxiously. Underneath the lamppost at the end of the driveway, his strawberry-blond hair glowed against the ink of night falling around them, "He's got the invitation."

"I still don't know how you figured this would work," Roger commented from his spot against the wall, "One invitation for three people? Neither us of have costumes—"

"Your face is mask enough," Maureen Johnson, Mark's ex-girlfriend-now-lesbian, chimed as she strutted up to them. She was fully adorned in a homemade Cat Woman outfit. Her pale skin was harsh against the tight, black leather suit she was wearing, and her auburn curls dangled wildly around her shoulders underneath a small set of felt cat's ears.

"Oh, ha. Ha." Roger glared through the darkness.

"Chill out," Maureen growled back, resting her chin on Mark's shoulder, "I'm not here to stomp on the pieces of your broken heart."

"Why _are_ you here?" Mark asked, smiling as she patted his head.

"Jo-jo got invited," she beamed contentedly, "Why are _you two_ here?"

"Collins invited us," Mark shrugged, "but he hasn't shown up yet."

"And you managed to convince him—" she jerked a thumb in Roger's direction, "to come out to this party?"

"Well... yeah."

"He hasn't left the house in months! How did you do it?"

"I... I did the pouty-lipped thing."

"Hah! Well, I guess miracles do exist, huh, Pookie?" Maureen finished incredulously as Joanne joined them, lacing her arms around Maureen's waist and kissing her neck.

"Where are your costumes?" Joanne asked as she untangled herself. She was dressed as a She-Devil; she wore a form-fitting red tank top and mini-skirt, both covered in mesh drapes that clung to her arms and her thighs in a sensual way. She also wore sheer, red pantyhose and thin stiletto heels, also in red. Upon her chocolate-brown locks was a set of plastic horns.

"Well—"

"We don't have any; we shouldn't even be here," Roger stated as he kicked off from the column, taking a step forward and bumping right into a heavily camouflaged Collins.

"Easy, Lover Boy," Collins smiled, tossing a plastic costume bag into Roger's hands, "Sorry I'm late; had some trouble getting down here after I left the costume shop. Taxis," he rolled his eyes before throwing another costume bag to Mark, who fumbled before catching it.

"What are you going as?" Maureen smiled as she enveloped Collins in a hug.

"A monk," he said, pulling a thin, brown robe from his own costume bag and throwing it on over his white collared shirt and brown slacks, "Fitting, huh?"

"About as fitting as my Cupid costume," Mark commented nervously, looking down at the cardboard cloud resting around his hips, held in place by thick, flesh-toned suspenders, "Am I supposed to walk around naked under this thing?"

"You could go shirtless, and walk around in your boxers," Joanne offered encouragingly, despite looking mischievous in her Devil's outfit, "People have walked around in less during earlier parties."

"Well—" Mark fidgeted with the suspenders, "I guess I could handle it."

"How do you like your costume, Roger?" Collins asked as the group turned to observe the last member of their group.

"I feel like a lame joke."

"Aww, Baby, you look good!" Maureen praised as he turned around to face them, "Wow, that's hot. What're you supposed to be?"

"Don Juan."

* * *

"What are we going to tell them when we get to the door?" Roger asked as he and the gaggle of friends tromped up the hill towards the Mansion, "Collins, party of three?" 

"Explanations like that are outdated, Roger," Collins smiled as he faintly turned his head to acknowledge the sarcasm in the air, "We don't need to have memorized a speech to get us in. We simply give them the invitation, and damned if they won't let us in. Honestly, if Indigo Marquez invites you to a party, it's about networking. Who you know can make or break the mold in business, Kids, and if I so wish to bring two of my esteemed business colleagues to a networking party, then I will."

"_Esteemed business colleagues_," Maureen muttered, "Yeah right. They're about as _esteemed_ as a porcelain toilet bowl."

"Hey! We're walking right next to you, you know!" Mark glared as the came closer to the door.

"Just be cool, okay?" Joanne smiled, placing a comforting hand on Roger's shoulder before ushering Maureen to the front, invitation in hand, "We're going to dance and party the night away; you'll feel much better after you've had a good time."

"I don't plan on dancing," Roger grimaced at the thought.

"But Roger, that's what makes a party, a party!" Maureen chimed indignantly.

"Do I look like I'm really happy to be here?" He asked, his eyes like stone, causing Maureen's stubborn pride to come through and bolster her up in defense.

"Listen, Gorgeous, we've been attending your pity parties for the last four months; frankly, they're pretty boring," Maureen glared as she moved into him, poking him—hard—in the shoulder with a black fingernail, "You used to be one of the best people to party with; clubbing, drinking, carefree! Who are you now, Don Juan? You're not the Roger we all know and love; not anymore."

Roger remained silent under her honest scrutiny.

"You're a lover by nature, Roger; you're like me. Take Cupid's wings—" she pointed at a very surprised Mark, "—and fly above the hurt."

"That was pretty profound," Mark whispered to Collins, who had inched closer during the beginning stages of the confrontation that had played out before them.

"I'm still not over April, Maureen," Roger sighed in defeat, "I can't '_fly_' any higher than I can jump. I'm just not ready."

"What a drag," Maureen huffed as she grabbed Joanne's arm and jerked her towards the bouncer waiting outside the door, "And here I thought the old Roger would be making a comeback; apparently, he's strong enough to overcome addiction, but too weak to overcome a broken heart."

"Maureen!" Joanne hissed.

"Come on," Maureen called back to the group, "If Roger wants to pout, let him pout. I'm going to have a good time, regardless. See you on the dance floor!"

Mark and Collins remained, shocked and silent. Roger looked up to their worried eyes and gave a faint smile, "I'll stand against the wall and watch; you guys have your fun."

They began walking in an electric quiet; words unsaid and hanging where they could've been. Mark swallowed the need to tell Roger to quit being such a baby. He'd registered that Maureen had been dead on. How could Roger be so strong as to overcome his addiction to drugs, but he wasn't strong enough to mend his broken heart? Perplexing, but Mark chalked it up to experience–he'd never known love the way it was supposed to have been known, so he couldn't say that he knew where Roger was coming from, or he knew how hard it was for Roger to cope with the loss. He shrugged and wished away his temperament; hoping that both Roger and he would be able to enjoy the night.


	5. Act I, Scene v, Part i

In honesty, I took some creative liberties here. This is, by far, the longest scene so far. Most of the scenes have been fairly short – a standard one-to-two page count; this particular scene, however, has been extended to more than five pages. Thusly, I've split it in twine – er, two. Forgive me if any of my embellishments seem like a deterrent; I merely aim to please not only you faithful readers, but myself.

Thanks to **Renthead** and **Kill-All-Flamers** for their vigilant reviews. Even though I'm sure **Kill** will want to beat me from all the additional things in this chapter, I enjoy the criticism she brings. And **Renthead** makes me smile when she leaves me comments; she is funny.

Also, I promised **IShouldTellYou** that there would be Mimi/Roger interaction this chapter, and I did not lie. While there _is_ Mimi/Roger interaction in Scene V, there is none in this first part. I'm very sorry; I didn't think I would be so creative and would be able to draw this out as much as I have.

So, enjoy. As always, this is for you.**

* * *

Act I, Scene V**

The bouncer at the door had done no more than accept their invitation and glance at their IDs before they were ushered into the throng of costumed Money. Surrounded by a sea of color, they'd lost Maureen and Joanne in a flurry of masked faces and assorted outfits.

The entrance hall was wide enough to hold fifty people, and it seemed that double that number had crammed into any available space. A wide, alabaster staircase gleamed as the lights flickered; just below the ceiling were tracks of electric-candles, all of which glimmered wickedly. Music came from every direction, a heavy beat that magnified the roar of conversation that surrounded Collins, Mark, and Roger as they fought against the crowds towards a doorway leading away from the swamped entrance.

"I think I'll stick around here," Roger called in Mark's ear, above the volume. He pointed towards the entrance they had just walked away from, "I'll probably be—" the music began to die down, and Roger moved back to accommodate for the encompassing quiet, "It'll be better if I stay out of the way; since I'm not dancing."

"Well, if you really want to. I'd prefer for us not to get split up—"

"Let the man sulk," Collins smiled mischievously, "He said he wasn't up to being the life of the party; we don't need you to be a downer, too."

Collins took Mark's arm and led him away, leaving Roger to wave with an apologetic smile on his face. _They'll be fine; they'll have fun_, he told himself as he turned and saw the stage that had been set up in the courtyard behind the house. Migrating towards it, he found that others were joining him, all talking in a hurried frenzy of tongues, laughter, and whispers.

The courtyard was half the length of a football field, and lit better than the Christmas tree that took up an annual residence in Time Square. Kerosene torches were scattered around the grounds, illuminating the darkness that created a dome around them, out of the light's reach. The air did not smell of gas, as it should have; instead, it smelled of vanilla, magnolia, and lavender—all of which were growing plentiful in the gardens and hedges that outlined the paved porch. Roger inhaled, vaguely reminded of his childhood home in New Jersey, where his mother had weaved trails of lavender around the posts on their front porch.

Looking around, his friends were nowhere in site, leaving him feeling distinctly alone. _I should just go… they'd never notice if I left—_ he steeled himself as he moved to leave, bumping into a man donning a King's costume.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the King bowed graciously, Roger following suit, "It's very hard to see where I'm going with all this plumage in my face," he gestured to the mask, lifting it to reveal very bronze skin, dark brown eyes that seemed older than he looked, and a very charismatic air that made Roger feel almost instantly at peace, "I don't think we've met. I'm Indigo Marquez."

"Ah, the man of the hour," Collins smiled as he joined Roger's side, seemingly out of nowhere, "Indigo, my friend, how are you?"

"Thomas!" Indigo clamped Collins hard on the back in a brotherly embrace, "I'm glad you could make it."

"Like I could afford to miss another one of your parties," Collins smiled, "Oh, have you met my friend, Roger? He's the director of freshmen Music Theory in our Musical Development and Education program at MIT."

"A man of music? How wonderful," Indigo smiled as he held out his hand, "What sort of theory do you teach?"

"As Tom said, I'm a Music Theory professor—" he looked to Collins for help, as he had no idea what the Musical Development and Education program at MIT offered.

"He specializes in the origins and development of rock and roll music from rhythm and blues, country and western, and current trends in pop and rock, but he also offers his students the opportunity to learn how to recognize, write, or reproduce the music they currently listen to," Collins smirked, "He's a very dedicated man."

"How interesting," smiled Indigo, "so, you must be a very skilled music artist?"

"I play a little, yes," Roger found himself smiling in return.

"Fantastic! You should play something for us before you leave tonight," looking down at Roger's costume, another broad grin assembled on his face, "Perhaps, something exotic?"

As he walked away, Roger felt himself feeling slightly better. Collins noticed the change and nudged him wordlessly before slipping off into the crowd, seeming to disappear among the huddled masses. _Huddled masses?_ Roger hadn't noticed that most of the guests had congregated in the courtyard, and were staring ahead at the stage he'd been headed toward; Indigo the King was climbing the steps. Nearly everyone clapped, some called out in shouts of approval.

"Family, friends; welcome!" He raised his hands, palms facing the sky, in a demonstration of greeting, "Tonight is an eve of mystery and magic; let the night take you over. Give into the darkness around you. Submit to the wonder of this spectral holiday. Dance like you will never dance again, laugh like you will never hear each other laugh again, eat and drink to your hearts' content, as though this were your last meal—and it may very well be, as is the occasion," some laughed, others stirred the crowds with playful jabs at those who seemed eldest amongst them, "but above all these things, enjoy yourselves. Happy Halloween."

The masses howled with cheer and clapped as Indigo gave another graceful bow. A live band took the stage in his wake, striking up a very powerful rendition of "Monster Mash." Roger nodded, feeling his sadness seep away slightly. _The atmosphere is good here_, he thought, _it's comfortable with the crowds, around music._ He was reminded of nights spent in the club, surrounded by fans, by women, by _her_.

His sadness returned.

Suddenly, the good-vibe he had felt was gone, and claustrophobia settled in his throat. He gasped as though he were choking, feeling the muscles around his esophagus contract and rob him of his breath. _Too many people_, he thought desperately, trying to ease his throat and breathe regularly. Finding it difficult, surrounded by those who felt the outside air cool their skin and allow the heat of hundreds of bodies escape into the night, he shuffled back into the house.

Safely tucked away in the doorway between the entrance hall and the living room, his heart ached as he thought of how hopeless he felt. April was dead now; she _had_ been selfish, selfish to have done something that would cause him so much pain. He sighed and slumped against the frame of the doorway, looking up to the ceiling and silently praying for relief. _Anything_, _please._

* * *

Knowing that she would eventually have to meet with Benny, have to wine, dine, and probably dance her night away with him in order to please her parents and ease their troubled minds, had Mimi avoiding the stairs like the plague. Angel had vacated the room earlier, excited to be able to meet so many people and to mingle with "so many gorgeous men." 

_Sans Benny_, she thought, fingering the purple sash that was hanging from her witch's hat. A knock at her door had her on guard, and before she could say whether or not to enter, a woman with auburn curls poked her head through the opened door.

"Oops! I'm sorry; I thought this was the bathroom."

"Oh, no; that's on the opposite side of the hall, second door your left," Mimi smiled faintly, relieved that the person calling had not been the source of her anxiety.

"Thanks so much," the girl smiled as she continued to stare, "I'm Maureen."

"I'm Mimi."

"Why are you up here all by yourself?" Maureen asked as she walked in, leaving the door an open invitation to any passers-by. Mimi, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have minded, but with so much emphasis being placed on her shacking up with Benny for cash, she found herself practicing odd habits. She crossed to the door and shut it, putting a surprised look on Maureen's face.

"I'm avoiding someone," Mimi sighed, resting her forehead against the door, "this is my house; my parents arranged for me to meet up with this guy. They want me to marry him."

"Whoa! Slow down, chick!" Maureen held up her hands as a visible stop sign, "Your parents set you up with one of those guys downstairs?"

"Sort of," Mimi smiled wanly, shrugging her shoulders.

"But—" Maureen made a very disgusted face, "But, they're all—_old_!"

"Haha," Mimi laughed, "Not Benny. Benny is in his mid-twenties."

"Benny?" Maureen made another very disgusted face, "Benny Coffin?"

"The third," Mimi chimed, mocking the way that Benny always tagged his lineage to the end of his name, "do you know him?"

"We used to be roommates," Maureen bit her lip, then made one of the most fake-looking smiles Mimi had ever seen, "Shortly after I moved here from Scarsdale with a friend, we met another guy who was rooming with Benny. We all made very little money, but together, we made enough to pay rent for this little flat. It's in the worst part of town."

"In Alphabet city?" Mimi smiled. She'd heard this story before; Benny had embellished it a bit, talking about a drama-queen named Maureen, her hopeless tag-along of a boyfriend, Mark, and the perpetual fall-out he'd called Collins. Never a kind word, but before her, Maureen seemed grand.

Mimi was sure that anyone who didn't like Benny would have seemed just as amazing.

"So, Benny has told you about us," Maureen grimaced as she sat on the edge of Mimi's bed, "I'm sure it was nothing short of terrible."

"I never take anything Benny says to heart," Mimi smiled encouragingly; "He and I are far too different in personality for me to be forced to see the absolute worst in people."

"Ha, the absolute worst," Maureen looked far-off, as though she were remembering something, "that would've been the perfect description for how it seemed when we all lived together."

She gave a small, quiet chuckle to herself before looking up from the bed, "You should come downstairs; the party is really a lot of fun, and there are so many people—you might be able to stay lost in the forest of costumes and avoid Benny all-together."

"I'll be down in a few minutes," Mimi sighed again as she watched Maureen come to her side, stepping away from the door to let her pass, "I've just got to collect myself."

"Don't worry, Babe," Maureen gave an optimistic smile as she patted Mimi's cheek in consolation, "No day but today."

"Right," Mimi smiled. _No day but today... I like the sound of that._

* * *

Maureen was coming down the stairs when she spotted Roger sulking near the door. In her head, she sang, "_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match—_" 

"Hey," she smiled as he looked up at her, "enjoying yourself?"

"More or less," he shrugged in disinterest, "What were you up to?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not really; just making idle conversation."

"You look like you're having a lot of success with idle conversation," Maureen smiled, trying to look as though she knew something he didn't, "The women here are just _flocking_ to you, Don Juan."

"Your eyes are so keen," Roger bit back.

"If you're miserable, why don't you go home?" Maureen prompted at the door, "Seems to me that you've been thinking about it. Why not just step across the threshold and be gone?"

"I'm trying to get comfortable again," Roger admitted quietly, "I was okay earlier, but I let my mind roam and I thought about April—"

"I see," Maureen hid the devilish grin she felt itching at the corners of her mouth, "Well, I know you usually play the guitar to get yourself grounded; if you want to sneak off someplace and try to recollect yourself, they have an _amazing_ music studio upstairs. All sorts of guitars. I'm sure you could find something to ease your mind."

"So _that's_ what you were doing," Roger grinned accusingly, "snooping around."

"Curiosity," Maureen shrugged, "It will kill me one day."

"One can only wish," Roger smirked as he took the stairs two at a time.

When Maureen heard the soft "thud" and the utterance of pain, she giggled and headed off in the direction of the courtyard to find Mark and tell him how she put her plan in action.


	6. Act I, Scene v, Part ii

Firstly: I'm **so** sorry thatthis took so long! Since I'm graduating from High School tomorrow, the last few weeks have been filled with studying for exams, writing invitations, intense house-cleaning, and seemingly non-stop working towards everything but writing. I've been piecing this thing together slowly, and finally I've finished it.

I will be starting on Act II this weekend in between Graduation, Family Time, and Parties. I promise that the next Act will be as good, if not better than, this one.

And secondly: there is no secondly.

So, leave me those comments; you know I love getting your feedback.  
Enjoy!

* * *

"Ow," she hissed as her fingers darted to her head, ignoring the fact that she was stumbling backwards. 

"Careful," he said gently as he took her arms to steady her, "I'm sorry; I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Don't worry about it," she sighed, removing her hand and focusing her vision. The fear left her face, grateful that she couldn't recognize the voice, and therefore wasn't being straightened up by a worried Benjamin Coffin. Instead, the voice belonged to a rogue-looking man in a Don Juan costume.

He stood a few inches taller than her, with golden locks that sat in a very similar style to that of Bon Jovi. He had deep blue eyes that were hidden behind a dark black mask, a straight nose that wasn't too pronounced, but suited his high, chiseled cheekbones. Tall, slender, but comfortably built; she couldn't contain the lustful look of appraisal that crossed her chocolate-brown eyes. She hoped he hadn't seen it, "I wasn't watching, either."

"Hah," he smiled, exposing beautiful, straight teeth. _Maybe he had braces as a kid_? She thought. His smile melted something inside her, causing her to lean into him unconsciously, "Can you make it?"

"I might need to sit down for a minute," she admitted. He guided her to the stairs and helped her sit down, crouching next to her and tipping her witch's hat back, exposing her forehead.

"I might've bumped you harder than I thought," he smiled, presumably at the wording, "you might have a little bruise there."

"That's the least of my worries," she sighed again.

"You look about as happy as I feel," he joined her sitting position.

"Ha, if that were only the half of it—" she said, mostly to herself, before realizing what he had meant, "Oh, you aren't enjoying the party?"

"I was sort of dragged here," he admitted with a slight blush, "My friend, Tom Collins, was invited. I've been down-and-out lately; he thought it might cheer me up."

_Tom Collins?_ Maureen and Benny had both mentioned his name before; c_ould this be the doting boyfriend, Mark? _There was nothing seemingly-hopeless about this Don Juan; he seemed so confident, not to mention charming... and if Mark was as dependent as Benny has said, he wouldn't he be so forthright. _Wait, isn't he dating Maureen?_ Until she could be sure if the person before her was Mark Cohen, she would continue to call him Bon Jovi.

"My friend, Angel, tried telling me that this party would cheer me up," Mimi grinned, "She said, 'Get out there and mingle with all the hot, rich men!'"

She paused before adding, "At least I found a hot one."

Bon Jovi blushed the palest shade of pink, the effect of which caused his blue eyes to glow in the dimness of the foyer; the candlelight flickered and the blues darkened.

"I'm Mimi," she extended a hand.

He took it, turning it over and kissing the soft skin over her knuckles, "It's a pleasure; I'm—"

"Mimi!"

_Damn_.

* * *

"Mimi!"

Roger watched as the smile faded from the face of the girl he'd bumped into. The smile that reminded him of— but it was different somehow. There was warmth there, warmth and heart, and _life_. Something he'd missed out on in the last few months as he hid away from warmth, heart, and this awkward emotion known as love. This girl—Mimi—had merely walked into him, and he could feel again. It was the most sudden of changes, as well as the least subtle.

The faux-candles flickered again, causing a temporary darkness to settle where they were sitting. She glowed against it inky blackness; her rich, passionate brown eyes, lips, her silky dark hair, flawless skin—flawless skin that he had touched with his roughened, calloused hands. She had let out a small gasp when he'd kissed her knuckles—_why **did** I do that?_ He paused to think.

The lighting brightened, but her smile was gone, as was the warmth in her eyes. The man that had called her name climbed the stairs in the same fashion Roger had before running smack-dab into Mimi; two-at-a-time.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," the man was saying. _Why does his voice sound so familiar?_ "Are you feeling alright? Why are you sitting down on the stairs?"

"We ran into each other," Mimi nodded at Roger, who remained sitting at her side, her hand still in his from the remnants of his kiss, "We bumped heads. I was feeling a little dizzy, so I sat down. He was kind enough to wait with me while I gained my bearings."

"A real gentleman," the other man commented, though the sarcasm was obvious, "I guess I should thank you then." He held out his hand in an offer of gratitude.

The man was dressed in all black, the sole exception being the sweater and scarf combination that emphasized the silver in the hair that lay erratic beneath the rim of a top hat. A sleek, ebony cane rested in his other hand, a platinum eagle's head as its handle. The man had the makings of a five o' clock shadow, the coloration of which didn't match the mop on his head. _A wig?_ He looked young beneath the costume and make-up, young and familiar, though Roger couldn't quite place him.

"Don Juan," he supplied cautiously.

"Ebenezer Scrooge," the man returned, shaking Roger's hand firmly and with more force than was necessary, "I want to thank you for looking after Mimi; she is very special to me."

"No doubt of it," he said absently as he looked to the woman in question. She was absolutely beautiful. She glanced at him and blushed under his gaze; he loved the way she colored in the dim light, "I guess I'll see you around?"

"Definitely," Mimi smiled wide as she extended her hand again, "Thank you, again."

"Anytime," He smiled back, raising her hand and pressing his lips against her knuckles again, his eyes trained on hers. Ebenezer was coughing, sounding distinctly in opposition to the interaction. Mimi gave a slight giggle and nod, urging him to let go. He backed away, giving a small bow before taking the steps down to the foyer.

_I need to find Mark_, he thought, heading through to the living room and out to the courtyard.

* * *

_Why did his voice sound so familiar?_ Benny thought as agitation settled in; _and who **was** that guy?_

"Who was he?" Benny asked of Mimi angrily, his temper building.

"I already explained that to you," Mimi bit back, a glare settling over her chocolate-colored eyes, "and you should be grateful that I gave you any explanation at all, Benjamin Coffin. I am _not_ your girlfriend, nor your wife, and I don't have to report to you."

She shoved past him, knocking him slightly as she descended the stairs and exited the foyer, leaving Benny feeling embarrassed and ashamed.

_Good going, Genius_, he chided himself, _how can you expect her to love you, to marry you, if you keep pushing her further away?_

The foyer felt ice-cold; Mimi's warmth and life were long gone, her exotic perfume leaving an apparition of her behind, filling Benny with the strong sense of passion, he needed redemption. He moved down the stairs, headed in the direction of the courtyard, hoping that he could find her and apologize before she ran into Don Juan again.

* * *

The courtyard was chilly; the cold of October setting in over the grounds, numbing the areas outside the warming glow of the torches. Mimi's short, spandex skirt didn't do much to provide any shielding from the night air, and she found herself walking faster in the direction that the mysterious Bon Jovi had gone. Out the French doors to the back porch, across the courtyard and down a decent length of the grounds, she found him wandering through the neatly orchestrated maze, one her father had constructed specifically for the party.

"Hey!" she called and waved. Bon Jovi stopped and smiled, waiting for her to catch up, "Man, you walk at a pretty fast pace."

"Oh, I was looking for my friends," he looked around at the emptiness of the maze around them, "I didn't pass them on my way out of the foyer, and I couldn't find them in the courtyard, so I figured they were lost in here somewhere."

"It's easy to lose yourself in mazes," Mimi said, her eyes darkening as she gave Bon Jovi with a lustful gaze.

"You don't say?" he asked, taking a step forward, seemingly unsure of whether or not to take a right or to continue straight-ahead. Rounding the corner at his side, they found themselves at dead end. Mimi smiled as she moved into him, backing him into the hedge-wall, her face inches away from his.

"You don't waste anytime, do you?"

Mimi laughed at his quip, dipping her forehead and resting it against his shoulder. His arms came up and wrapped around her waist, holding her against him securely but gently. She breathed deeply, inhaling his scent, resting her palms against his chest. The weight was lifted from her left side as her took one of her hands in his. She looked up into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

"I'm sorry that my hands are so rough," he said quietly, as if to himself, "I play the guitar, so I have callouses."

"I couldn't tell," she replied, lacing her fingers with his, then laughed, "This reminds me of a scene from _Romeo and Juliet_."

"That's the second time today that I've been in a situation that compares to something Shakespeare wrote," Bon Jovi looked to the sky and gave a small smile, "but what scene were you talking about?"

"Where Juliet and Romeo meet for the first time; they are complete strangers drawn to one another in the midst of a crowded party. Romeo tries to seduce Juliet with flirtatious conversation and suggestive comments, and she resists for only so long, before she gives into temptation."

"It seems to me that Juliet is seducing Romeo this time around," Bon Jovi remarked as he dipped his head lower, meeting Mimi half-way and engaging in the most innocent of kisses she had ever experienced.

"Wow," Mimi sighed contentedly before leaning up on her tip-toes to kiss him again.

"Mimi!"

_Damn.

* * *

_

As Mimi untangled herself from Roger's embrace, a tall and slender woman rounded the corner. 

She was at least Roger's height of five-ten, however, she appeared much taller thanks to a pair of gleaming, knee-high, white-leather boots, whose platformed soles and heels gave her an addition three inches over him. She had lean, toned legs that were wrapped up in ice-blue stockings that ended in that sultry, elastic lace on her mid-thigh. Her dress was similar to Mimi's in being spandex and short, but the lack of scooping-neckline was accented with a sheer, ice-blue scarf whose ends dangled around the small rise of breast, creating some significant emphasis on her flat chest.

Her skin was that creamy bronze that glowed in the pale moonlight. She had flattering, high cheekbones and large brown eyes that were partly hidden by orange-blonde hair that was expertly handled, causing the ends to curl outward and fan around her heart-shaped face. A clear band rested near the top of her head, a plastic pole holding the fuzzy, white halo inches above her crown.

"Mimi! Your mom has been looking for you everywhere," the woman smiled at Roger, her eyes darting between the two, a knowing smile coming over her lips, "She's up near the stage."

"Oh, thanks," Mimi said quietly, sounding disappointed as she turned and gave Roger a weak smile, "See you?"

"Definitely," He smiled warmly before she turned and rounded the corner, out of side. He sighed happily, closing his eyes and leaning back into the hedge-wall, trying to savor the memory of her lips against his—

"I'm Angel."

His eyes shot open, registering that Mimi's friend remained with him. He blushed furiously and recovered, extending his hand, "I'm Roger."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Angel cooed, "I think Mimi feels the same."

He let out a small laugh, "Likewise."

"It's good to see her happy," Angel commented, coming beside Roger and leaning against the wall, "She's been so put-out all day."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Well, her parents sort of—"

"Roger!"

Mark's voice burst through the conversation, causing Roger to move into a line of sight. Mark and Collins were headed in his direction, looks of concern on their faces.

"Where have you been?" Mark demanded as they regrouped.

"We thought you might've gone, but since none of us have cell phones, we weren't going to just head home while you might still be mulling around," Collins smiled as Angel joined them; the look on his face was one of approval, "Who's your friend?"

"This is Angel—"

"Dumott Schunard," Angel smiled flirtatiously as Collins took her hand and kissed the soft flesh on top, "And you are?"

"Collins. Tom Collins," he said against her hand, the rough of his five o' clock shadow moved against her knuckles.

"And I'm Mark," Mark waved noncommittally.

"Nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you, too," Mark smiled as he turned to Roger, "The party is ending; Collins and I figured we'd better go get a cab."

"Probably a good idea," Roger nodded before looking to Angel, "Would you like us to walk you back to the courtyard?"

"I've got it," Collins immediately offered, taking Angel's hand and looping arms with her, "I'll meet you guys at the front."

"I think Collins has a crush," Mark observed.

"I thought Collins was gay?" Roger asked puzzled, before it hit him. He laughed, "Angel is the prettiest man I've ever seen."

* * *

It was hours after the party had ended, hours after she had first kissed Bon Jovi in the maze, but despite time, Mimi could still feel his lips gently pressing into hers, could still taste the sweet kiss, could still feel the warmth of his embrace. She laid on her bed, wishing that there had been more time.

_Why hadn't I just come downstairs earlier?_ She thought remorsefully, _maybe if I'd just faced my fears, I could've spent more time with him_.

A soft knock at her door had her sit bolt upright, "Come in."

Angel entered, her pajamas three sizes to big, causing her—in all her five-eleven glory—to look like an undersized child. Candy-stripes, as Mimi called them, in pale shades of easter blue, purple, yellow, and pink, brought out the creaminess of Angel's Dominican skin. She had removed her make-up and wig, and was wearing an extra-large black t-shirt, as well as an extremely satisfied look on her face.

"Looks like you met somebody," Mimi quipped.

"I could say the same about you," Angel returned as she flopped onto Mimi's queen-sized bed, "Your Don Juan was quite handsome."

"Wasn't he?" Mimi giggled, laying down so that her head rested in the small of Angel's back.

"Where did you find him?"

"Actually, I bumped into him—literally," Mimi laughed, remembering their meeting on the staircase, "And he just... got under my skin. He was so charming, Angel."

"His friend is pretty charming too."

"Friend?" Mimi asked inquisitively, "Do tell."

"Well, his name is Tom Collins—"

"Oh no!" Mimi sat up again, "Then he really _is_ Mark!"

"Huh?" Angel asked as she moved to sit beside Mimi on the edge of the bed, "What are you talking about?"

"Benny—when he first moved to New York—roomed with three other people; Mark Cohen, Tom Collins, and this girl named Maureen Johnson," Mimi explained, her face buried in her hands, "Mark and Maureen are dating, and shortly before I bumped into _him_, I met Maureen. She was looking for the bathroom, and came in here by mistake.

"But it seemed like I ran into that Don Juan-guy right after Maureen left me; it was Mark! My Don Juan is Mark! He was coming up the stairs to find Maureen when he bumped into me! Oh _no_!"

"What are you talking about?" Angel asked in confusion, "Your Don Juan's name isn't Mark. Mark was dressed up as Cupid."

"What?" Mimi asked, pulling her eyes from her hands and staring at Angel in disbelief.

"Yeah, I met Mark after you went off to go see what your mom wanted," Angel recalled, looking thoughtful, "And Mark was definitely dressed up as Cupid. Your Don Juan told me his name was Roger."

"Roger?" Mimi whispered thankfully, "Thank God!"

"But I'm Angel," Angel interjected playfully before being tackled by Mimi, who promptly hugged him, "Wow, what was that for?"

"I'm just so happy that he's not in some heavy, extended relationship!"

"With that Maureen-girl?"

"Yes!" Mimi sighed happily before she released Angel and compose herself, "So, tell me about Collins."


	7. Act II, Scene i, Part i

Over amonth since last I updated, and I'm so sorry that I've been so slow in writing; things have been so hectic, even after I graduated (many thanks to those of you who wished me a good-one; I appreciate it!).

I've mademy chapter-length cut-offfour pages, which makes it easier for me to get out more chapters for you eager readers. That being said, here is Act II, Scene i, **Part i**. It's probably not up to par, but I'll let you decide.

Do leave me your questions/comments/gripes/complaints/concerns. I love them all.

* * *

Raindrops burst with an electric crackle against the surfaces of puddles gathered up in buckets along the floor. With every pop, Roger was reminded of his chance encounter with the exotic Mimi, their heads colliding with a rough smack. Each reminder brought back sensory memories; her chocolate-colored eyes, the scent of warm vanilla underneath something more dangerous and provocative, the feel of her smooth skin against his rugged hands—

Groaning, he sipped his coffee and pleaded silently with the Powers-At-Be to ease his mind and end his torture. _Can one move forward while their heart remains in the past?_ he sighed discontentedly, taking a moment to dwell on the events that had erupted over the course of the evening.

It seemed like it had been years since he had thought of April; her fiery red hair and bright green eyes, smoky make-up emphasizing the sickly pale of her skin; that plum-colored lipstick that stained some of his shirts … all that he could remember… just not the distinct features of her face. Not the length of the nose or the plumpness of the lips, or the shape of the eyes or placement of her cheekbones; just the colors had remained in his memory.

Now, the features of a different young woman were etching their way into the last of his reveries; no longer did April's borderline-tangerine hair seem as brilliant as it had days ago, no longer did the purple lipstick seem as inviting and seductive—no. It all paled in comparison to the life, the vibrancy that had flowed between Mimi and him last night in the maze. Her dark strands of hair fanned out against a forest of green leaves, bronze skin glowing ethereal as an enchanting smile graced her plump, kiss-swollen lips; she laughed, rich and throaty, belying the sweet innocence in her heart-shaped face. She looked up, gazing deeply into his eyes, standing up on her tip-toes, tilting her head to press a whisper against his ear—

"Roger?"

Startled by Mark's voice permeating the thin sheen of his daydream, Roger jumped visibly, his eyes wide in shock, leaving him a bit disoriented. Mark laughed, obviously keen to what he'd interrupted, "Sorry about that; didn't mean to frighten you."

"Get that shit-eating grin off your face," Roger said testily, turning to look out the window to avoid letting Mark see his flush of embarrassment. Mark joined him on the window-seat, looking out into the cloudy grey of the early morning.

"What's on your mind?" Mark pressured, knowing well enough that Roger never succumbed to this male-bonding, expressing-our-feelings-when-nobody-else-was-around, crap. A pointed look was usually enough to dissuade discussions like this, but today, Mark seemed determined to weasel some semblance of confession from him, "Maureen told me you met a girl at the party last night—"

"She what?" Roger had the decency to look confused.

Mark let another laugh roll out of his throat, smiling at how easily his friend had been deceived by what was one of Maureen's sloppiest cons ever, "She told me she set you up to meet a girl who was having just as terrible a time at the party as you were."

"She did?" Roger asked scornfully, the distinct glint in his eye betraying the underlying feeling of gratitude for Maureen's hair-brained scheming, for once.

"Yeah; she said the girl was hiding from Benny, of all people."

"Benny was at the party?" Movie-esque in thought, Roger brought up a series of events in his mind; a distinctly pissed off man in an Ebenezer Scrooge costume, whose sudden appearance had seemed to irritate Mimi. He had recognized the voice, and the man _had_ seemed familiar at the time, and his slight standoffishness and over-the-top attempt to seem superior had set Roger off in a bad way, enough to act brash and kiss Mimi's hand again in the suave demeanor he had adapted to from the minute he'd bumped into her, "He was wearing a Scrooge costume."

"Are we talking Bill Murray in 'Scrooged,' or as in something more realistically Benny, like, straight out of Dickens' imagination?"

"The latter."

"How typical," Mark rolled his eyes, "So, tell me about Mimi."

"Your lady-friend?" Collins asked groggily as he joined them, flopping down into the worn armchair nearest the window, cuddling a pillow to his cheek as he closed his eyes, sleepily waiting for details.

"Does everyone know?" Roger asked to no one in particular.

"Well, Maureen was quick to inform us all as to how much of genius she is," Mark conceded, "and I do believe that Collins got confirmation from Angel that she had caught you and Mimi, red-handed."

"Ah, the mysterious Angel," Roger smirked at the half-awake Collins, who was wearing a grand smile on his face, "And what of _your_ lady-friend?"

"Fairly young," Collins sighed dreamily, "Dominican, speaks Spanish in a way that should be unholy—"

"As our monk of last night, you should be well apt to cleanse her of her sins," Roger snickered and Mark stifled a cough, choking on his coffee.

Collins opened one eye and moved it quickly between his two friends, "Oh, I intend to."

* * *

Several hours later, Roger found himself standing, once again, at the edge of the driveway outside of the Marquez Mansion.

"Having second thoughts?" The question was barely there, as though Roger had heard it underwater, but he couldn't ignore the sensation of Collins' warmth next to him in the coolness of the now-November evening. The sun was setting, crimson and gold streaked the sky, blending and deepening as they spanned higher, consumed by the darkness of night above them.

"Yes and no," Roger sighed. Mimi's visage had been sifting in-and-out of his thoughts since the moment he'd met her; taunting him, calling to him, urging him to take those steps that led to the streets below their loft, hail a cab, and pay whatever amount it took to get to this exact place. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest, causing his breath to become shallow and quick, and his gut clenched nervously, "I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Well, it's too late now," Collins was saying, applying a slight pressure against Roger's arms as they moved jerkily towards the front door, "I only had enough money to get us both out here and back; I hadn't planned on you getting cold-feet."

With a rapt knock, Roger felt his muscles reflex and pull in that way that all muscles do when one feels sick to their stomach. He bent over slightly and counted to ten, hoping that the cooling air would wash away his feelings of nausea.

"Cool it," Collins whispered to him, patting his back as Roger stood to full height and took a deep, grounding breath, "if you can get up on stage in front of hundreds of people and play a guitar, you can sit through dinner with Mimi."

"Dinner?" He found himself saying as the door swung open., revealing a very surprised Angel.

Her hair, which had been long and blonde the night before, was now cropped to chin-length and was a variant shade of black that appeared to have a blue-tint. Her skin glimmered with the freshness of a recent shower, while thin lines of violet outlined her almond-shaped eyes, thick ebony mascara emphasizing their width. She was wearing a white sweater, though a black tank-top was visible through the thin knitting, and a raspberry-colored skirt that ended on her mid thigh. Her shapely legs were hidden behind white tights, and she stood taller than the night before in black leather platforms.

_The prettiest man I've ever seen_, Roger thought with a slight smile.

"Just the person I was thinking of," Collins gave a sweeping bow, taking her hand and kissing it dramatically. She half-laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"I don't think Mr. Marquez expected you so early; typically, we don't eat until well into the night," Angel took the opportunity to use their joined hands to pull Collins into the house, Roger following silently, "But I'm glad that you could make it."

"As though I would pass up the occasion to get to know you more?" Collins drew her closely, whispering something inaudible into her ear. She giggled unceremoniously, turning around in his embrace in an attempt to playfully escape, and registered Roger's presence for the first time.

"Oh, Roger! I'm so sorry," she detangled herself and wrapped the still-shocked Roger in a small, but friendly, hug, "How are you?"

"I'm—" he cleared his throat and shook his head to rattled what little the amount of wits he had left, "I'm okay. How're you?"

"I am somewhat embarrassed," she had the decency to blush slightly.

"Angel, who was at the door?"

The three turned their gazes up to the balcony adjoined to the stairs, and Roger's eyes immediately found the deep, brown pools that had haunted his dreams.

"Roger?"

"Hi," he waved shyly. A wide grin spread across her face, lighting all of her features and making her appear younger than she undoubtedly was.

"What are you doing here?" She asked as she slowly, as if deliberately, descended the stairs.

"I invited them for dinner," Angel smiled. Mimi shot her an accusatory glare that quickly faded as she reached the ground-floor and joined their group. She stood at Roger's side, but did not touch him. Something inside him constricted out of hurt, and he restrained the urge to reach out and take her hand, "I figured that it would give us all a chance to get to know one another."

* * *

_Oh, I would definitely like to get to know _him _better_, Mimi thought as she stood next to Roger, basking in the faint scent of his cologne; he smelt good. Woodsy, almost like a forest; fresh, alive, pulsating with a pleasant and familiar sort of charm that made Mimi close her eyes to steady herself, to will away the memory of the night before, when she had cradled herself against him in a means more intimate than she had ever experienced.

"So, what's for dinner?" Collins was asking.

"Shrimp scampi with garlic-herb butter sauce, served over linguini," Angel recited; a human menu and fantastic cook, "I've been soaking the shrimp all day."

"Soaking them in garlic-herb butter sauce?"

"You soak it at a medium to low temperature, allowing the shrimp absorb the sauce, which plumps them up, as well as gives them flavor," Angel nodded, "After you've let them soak, you turn up the heat in the sauce so that it thickens and warms, then you serve it all over pasta."

"That sounds amazing," Roger's stomach rumbled. Mimi's fingers twitched, begging to be allowed to reach out to him and touch him; to poke his stomach childishly, and smile if he laughed, or giggle if he scowled in annoyance. She balled her fists, allowing her still-black nails to dig into her skin lightly, reminding her to behave herself.

"It should be; Angel is the best cook in all of New York," Mimi smiled encouragingly at Angel, who was besotted with Collins; their eyes never leaving each other. Mimi's heart thumped heavily in her chest with what she knew was petty jealousy; but it hurt nonetheless.

"I don't doubt that," Collins smiled as he gazed into Angel's eyes. _Uh-oh_.

"Roger," Mimi turned to him and reached, though against her better judgment, to take his hand, "Let's give these to love-birds some breathing room."

"Okay," he smiled as his fingers curled around hers, entwining until their palms touched. She fought the urge to look down at their joined hands in disbelief, and instead walked him to the patio, leaving Collins and Angel to 'get to know each other better.'


	8. Act II, Scene i, Part ii

If there were only one word to describe the scene that awaited them outside those doors, it would have to be "rich," in every sense of the word.

Rich in the way the orange glow of sunset cast a tint on the West-facing walls of Marquez Mansion, across the length of their patio, over the tops of the hedges of partially deconstructed maze. Rich in the way the torches emphasized that deepening amber-color of the sky, their light creating seductive paths across the breadth of the grounds.

Rich in the way that, regardless that all the festive decorations of the party last night were missing, their porch seemed ostentatious. For a family of six, as he'd learned from Collins, this house was too big, this cobblestone and timber deck _too_ open, and personal space was something Roger adored.

Around him, the patio stretched. Roger surveyed the grounds in awe; what would it have been like to grow up this way? With all the money, all the opportunity? He caught the scent of lilac, and that familiar feeling of his small home in New Jersey flooded him.

Mimi must've noticed his mood shift; she gently squeezed his hand as she stood quietly next to him.

"You're lucky, you know?" Roger found himself saying before he'd collected enough of his nostalgia to not sound bitter. Mimi looked to him, a puzzled—if not challenging—look on her face as she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"I never had this growing up," he gestured to the all-encompassing span of personal space, "I lived in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom house with five other people, in the worst part of Jersey—" He stopped and thought of home, his mother's tired face, his father's drinking, and shuddered, "You have all this, and more... everything you could ever need is right here."

"Ha," Mimi said, this-side of caustically, "Not everything."

It was Roger's turn to quirk an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Not love."

The words themselves were powerful enough to rock Roger off his center, taking him aback.

"When you've got money, you get nothing but more money," Mimi said, withdrawing her hand and stepping away. Roger subconsciously registered that it was colder now, with the absence of her warmth, but pressed himself to pay attention, "Nobody wants you for who you are; just how much money they can get from you, or get to you in exchange for power or prestige or the feel of a body too young for them."

"That's why you were avoiding the party," Roger deduced, "So many older men that have tried to buy their way to you—"

"Who told you I was avoiding the party?" She asked, surprised.

"Mark."

"He was here last night?"

"How do you know Mark?"

"How did he find out?"

They smiled at each other; _this is comfortable, and her curiosity is adorable_, Roger thought, "Long story short, Maureen found you having a terribly discomforting time in your room and coerced you out of it, subsequently bumping into me, whom she conned into exploring your house for a guitar to soothe my nervous anxiety about parties," a look of realization passed over Mimi's face, "And on her way out the door, leaving you and I to our own devices, she found Mark and told him of her ingenious plan."

"Drama queen," Mimi mentioned quietly, thoughtfully.

"Ah, so that man last night, Scrooge; that _was_ Benny, wasn't it?"

"Where did you pull _that_ from?"

"Benny always called Maureen a drama queen," Roger half-laughed, "Not that any of us didn't agree."

"Did Maureen relay the message via Mark that Benny was who I was avoiding?" she smiled wryly.

"Well—" he merely shrugged, at a loss of any need for further explanation. Mimi gave a small laugh before she moved across the patio to a raised deck—the area where the live band had been situated the night before—and took a seat in a wicker lounge chair, gently patting the chair beside her in invitation.

Roger didn't have to think twice.  
---------------------------------  
"So, why _were_ you avoiding Benny, anyway?" he asked after he settled in next to her. Mimi couldn't help but notice the way his golden hair glowed brandy in the setting sun, his skin radiating warmth and life that was tangible enough in the thinning November air to wrap her fingers around and pull close against her. She shook her head slightly, trying to keep the lust from her eyes, and brought the conversation back.

"I've known Benny for a long time; his grandfather and mine had been business partners when they were younger, and my father and his father had grown up with one another—it was practically pre-ordained that the Marquez children and the Coffin kids would all grow up with one another. Benny is a few years older than me, but he's been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, we played house and talked about how we'd get married one day—" she sighed, thinking back on all those days she and Benny had played pretend; she cooking with a fake Fischer Price kitchen set while Benny carted around a brief case full of blank papers from room to room, talking about stocks and bonds with childish imagination.

She shook her head and sighed again, "While I was in high-school, he was interning under my father; getting a feel for the business and how it all works and we ended up dating. It held together pretty well; for seven or eight months... but he wanted marriage and I was only sixteen; I didn't want or need that type of commitment, so I broke up with him. He took it badly, retired his internship under my father and transferred to Grey Scale Enterprises in Westport, met Allison—"

"Muffy."Roger interjected with the most solemn of looks on his face. Mimi had to make a conscious effort to not giggle.

"Heh, okay. He transferred to Grey Scale Enterprises in Westport, met _Muffy_, and got married. That was the last I'd heard of Benny until yesterday."

"Was his presence at the party really _that_ aggravating?" Roger asked, before anxiously covering up his moment of sincerity towards Benjamin Coffin the third, "Don't get me wrong, I could list a dozen people that get irritated at the mention of his name—"

"No, I understand what you mean," Mimi nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. He rewarded her with a charming, but boyish grin; the kind that melted her insides and sent her to floor. She stood and sat on the edge of his lounge, making sure to angle it correctly so that when she leaned over to rest her elbows on her knees, her cleavage was pronounced.

_That's it, Mims; throw yourself at him like your a-typical whore_.

She abruptly sat up and titled the chair, causing Roger to slide forward and into her back. She stumbled forward and caught herself before face-planting, standing up as gracefully as she could manage and whirled around to face Roger's laughing eyes. For an instant they stood in silence, staring at one another until the moment of tension passed and gave way to mirth. They laughed at their silliness, their playfulness, and Mimi sighed before returning to the left side of Roger's lounge, angling her body to face him, all her seductive breast-framing aside.

"You know what I said earlier? About how when you've got money, you get nothing but more money?"

"Yeah," He implored with puzzled eyes, all laughter gone and replaced with something darker, somber and serious.

"Well, my mother and I had a talk last night, before the party. She—she basically implied that Benny is trying to buy his way into marrying me."

"But you'd never fall for that..."

"And he knows it," Mimi nodded, "That's why he went through my parents."

"Figures," Roger sighed sadly, shaking his head, "What happened to Benny? What happened to the ideals he once pursued?"

"If you asked him that, he'd probably tell you that a man could pursue all his dreams with enough money in his pocket," the words sounded sullen, almost pouting and childish, "Including wet dreams."

Roger laughed out loud, rich and throaty. She watched his Adam's apple, entranced by the movement of the bob against the thin skin of his neck. With his eyes closed and his smile broad, she felt that electric buzz of attraction fizzing inside her, filling her up like so much gas. She reached out and gently touched his throat, her fingers tracing a path down to his collar bones, gracing the breadth of his sturdy shoulders, the lengths of his forearms. Her mind whirled as she unconsciously turned her focus to the hitch in his breath as her hands found his stomach underneath the hem of his untucked t-shirt.

"C-cold hands," He said breathlessly, and she couldn't help the small jolt of satisfaction that came with the tension in his voice. When she felt the chill of his hands on her slightly exposed waist, she gasped.

"Yours, too." She whispered as she leaned forward into him

"Mimi! Roger!"

_Damn._

Angel was standing in the doorway, smiling like the cat that caught the canary. Mimi could feel the blush burning its way into her cheeks, regardless that she and Roger hadn't been doing anything that warranted common shame. She turned her gaze to Roger's for a moment, noticing his eyes we the color of a storming ocean, dark and consuming.

_He wants me_, she thought gleefully, her own grin spreading and warming her features. He returned the smile before jerking his head backwards, signaling Angel's presence.

"What's up?" Mimi looked up to her friend, whose smug facial features foretold a night of giggling and sharing secrets.

"Dinner's almost ready; everybody is settling in at the table."

"Alright, we're coming."

Mimi stood and held her hands out to Roger, who took each one and kissed them gently before standing of his own accord. They lingered there, hands entwined, looking at each other as if there were nothing more around them to preoccupy them, when Angel cleared her throat loudly. Roger chuckled, Mimi giving a small laugh, before the walked together to the door, regrettably letting their hold fall away as they crossed the threshold and entered the foyer.  
---------------------------------  
Dinner passed in a flurry of casual conversation, subtle glances, and all the prime and proper functionality of an elitist family entertaining dinner guests. Roger searched his brain for all the times before this, when he could remember eating so richly, or dining so finely, or enjoying the company of people far above his social station. Not to his surprise, he couldn't recall a situation such as the one he'd just experienced, and as Collins and he were led to the door by Angel and Mimi, he felt a surge of self-consciousness.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Mimi was whispering to him and Angel and Collins shared their own, private goodbyes. He subconsciously wondered if he'd impressed her parents, said and done the right things, acted as the gentleman his mother had wished he'd grown into.

"Believe me, I wouldn't if I didn't have to," Roger whispered back, taking her hands in his and raising them to his lips again, "Tonight was—"

"Awkward?" She supplied, smiling and she pressed her forehead against his own, her hands the divider between their lips.

"Well, the dinner part was awkward," he laughed, "but the part before, being with you—it was amazing."

"Likewise."

"I don't want this night to end, because I don't know when I'll see you again," he hadn't thought to soften the cushion of the truth before it came out of his mouth; he wasn't some prestigious music teacher that made a comfortable sum of money a year; he was a bar-hopping musician that barely scraped by on the money from his gigs. The last two days had happened because of Collins and his connections, and his money. Tomorrow, he'd be going home, and Roger's free ride on all Collins' cash would end. Who knows when he could come up with the money to get a cab out here again? Or let alone, to get a cab back home?

Defeat filtered through him like lightning, ripping against his insides and burning everything it touched.

"No," Mimi whispered, "Don't think like that."

He sighed, unable to think of anything reassuring that he could substitute for his sudden, depressing outburst. Mimi took her hands and raised his face so that their eyes met and held, "Listen to me, Roger; we'll figure something out."

"Mimi, I need to tell you that I'm not—"

"I don't care what you are or aren't," Mimi leaned forward and pressed an anxious, but tender, kiss to his parched lips to silence him, "we'll figure something out."

He nodded, his voice lost in the emotions swimming through his mind.

Collins' hand was on his shoulder, bringing him back from his trance, "C'mon man, the cab's here."

Roger nodded, turning back to Mimi. She stood up on her tip-toes, kissed his forehead, and stepped away, their hands falling at the last possible moment. He backed away slowly, his eyes searching hers, before turning away and walking beside Collins towards the cab at the end of the driveway.

"Thanks, Tom," he said quietly. Collins turned a sad smile on him and put a comforting arm around his shoulders.  
---------------------------------  
They reached the cab in a somber silence, partially oblivious to the upset cab-driver standing at the front of his car, the hood up and a faint trail of smoke rising from the area of the engine. Collins was the first to snap out of their daze and join the cabby in deciphering the problem.

"I'll have to call somebody out here; another cab and a tow truck," the driver sighed exasperatedly. Collins offered to go back up to the house and ask for help, but the cab driver refused, his attitude turning over as he stated that there was a good chance that another cab was in the area, and that he could use the busted cab as an excuse to take his long over-due vacation. Collins had laughed good-naturedly, turning away to Roger, who was nowhere to be seen.

"Roger?"

Collins checked the backseat of the cab, thinking that Roger might have not registered their broken ride in his vegetative, depressed state, but Roger wasn't sitting solemnly there as he had suspected.

_Where the hell did he go?  
_---------------------------------  
Guess what? I got overly creative again, and have delayed the balcony scene! I'm sorry(xPiinfinity). I promise that you will have your balcony scene in the next update, and I doubly promise that I will start on that RIGHT NOW.

Hopefully, I'll tear through the next scene and have it updated sooner than I posted this one. I hope all my loyal readers are still out there, anxiously awaiting updates... because I'm going to have a good deal of them soon, I think. So, please stay tuned, and leave your comments as always.

3  
'Nomaly.


	9. Act II, Scene ii

_I'm freaking crazy._

Roger's heart raced behind the confines of his chest, pounding harder and harder against the bones holding it inside as if it were a caged animal, desperate to break free at any expense of its health. His breath was short, his hands were shaking, but he was tracing his way through the hedges and the bushes, around the front of the house and into the broken down maze, to the back of the house. It was only once he'd gotten to that platform deck that it dawned on him.

He had no idea which room was hers.

More so, there wasn't a lot of cover to hide behind, should anybody see him.

_I'm freaking crazy_.

He sank into one of those surprisingly comfortable wicker chairs, thankful that they didn't face the doors to the foyer. His fingers to his temples, he counted all the beats in some of his favorite songs, hoping that they would inspire some stroke of genius, some idea or brilliant plan that would allow him to be honest with Mimi and still keep her in his life.

Above him, a light came on.

His eyes floated up to a balcony, the set of French doors glowing with the warmth of the light from the room within. He could see the silhouette of a female figure, slender with liquid movement.

_Mimi!_

He sat up, attempting to get a better look, when the doors swung open and she stepped outside. In a panic, he flung himself to the floor of the deck and rolled, tucking himself beneath the wicker chair to shield himself. He peeked his head out a little, training his eyes on her face; so sad looking, so defeated looking.

He watched in silence as she climbed up onto the banister, sitting on the corner-wedge, leaning her back against a column. The moonlight gleamed on her creamy skin, reflecting and casting that ethereal glow that she'd had in the maze on Halloween. She looked down towards the ground, and Roger found he couldn't shrink away, not caring if she spotted him hiding beneath her deck furniture.

"Mimi?"

Angel's voice was faint from the distance, but Roger knew that no other person could hold that much affection in their voice.

"Out on the balcony!" Mimi called back. Shortly, Angel joined her, the wig forsaken until there was naught but a man of average height, with short-cropped hair and a delicate face. Roger was taken aback by how handsome Angel could be without all his make-up and theatrics.

"What's wrong, Chica?" Angel stood at her side, a slight hand touching Mimi's shoulder in concern.

"I'm just thinking," Mimi sighed, and the action seemed to shake her small body.

"About Roger?" Angel's worry was tangible, even from where Roger was hidden.

"Yeah," Mimi smiled faintly, "I don't think he's at all what my father believes he is."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think he's a music professor," Mimi looked out across the grounds again, "I think he's just an average Joe; he's probably in a band that plays nights at bars in the worst parts of New York."

"Well, if he was, do you think that would change anything?"

"It would change everything," Mimi ground out in a whisper that was so soft, Roger had hardly heard it at all, "Not by me; I don't care what he does for a living, or where or how he lives. My father likes him because he thinks he represents something valuable to me; I could get into the music program at MIT with Roger's help, if he really is a professor there. Daddy doesn't see anything more in that, other than an opportunity."

"So, you don't care if he's not everything he's appeared to be?"

"Not in the slightest," Mimi smiled a little wider, "He's not like everybody else that's come here to try and win me over with jewelry or dinner at a fancy restaurant; in fact, I think I'd prefer that he weren't some corporate mogul or wealthy arts teacher, but just some guy with a few friends, singing and playing their music because it's what they love to do, no matter how bad-off they are financially."

There was a quiet, comfortable silence that passed between them as Mimi gazed up at the stars.

"I mean, what's in money anyway? I would be just as happy being broke off my ass, living in Alphabet City in a run-down flat, if I could dance and sing, and do the things I love."

"Wouldn't we all, Sweetie?" Angel leaned in and hugged her tightly, "don't worry at it, okay? Things will work themselves out in the end, I know it."

"Thanks, Angel," Mimi sighed into his embraced, obviously happy to have this sort of comfort to fall into in situations like the one they shared, "You go to bed, get some sleep."

"Alright, don't stay up too much later," Angel smiled before leaving the balcony, and at last, Roger and Mimi were alone.  
--------------------------------------  
"What was it that Shakespeare said?" Mimi asked quietly into the night sky, looking out into the sea of stars that surrounded their countryside home. Beautiful, breathtaking, she had always loved this view because it reminded her of how the city was lit up at night, all sparkle and glamor in the roughened streets. She sighed, her free-spirited nature longing to be in the thick of New York, getting out there and living her life the way she wanted, without the rule of her parents to predetermine her future. She shook away the emptiness, and returned to her thoughts on Shakespeare.

"Oh," she remembered it now, "just like Romeo and Juliet; regardless of his social status, I would still care about him—the status doesn't make the man.

"'Tis but thy _status_ that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not _an average joe_. What's _status_? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other _level_! What's in a _level_? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So _Roger_ would, were he not _common_ called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. _Roger_, doff thy _level_, and for that _status_, which is no part of thee, take all myself.'"

She smiled, completed amazed that even after three years, she could still remember those lines as if she'd performed them yesterday. Her high-school involvement in drama had made her famous among her classmates and among her teachers, earning her compliments and coddling towards her dream of performing on Broadway...

"I don't know what Romeo said in response, but I'll say that if you'll take me for what I am, I'll gladly have you!"

The words were whispered loudly from below, and Mimi gasped, wondering if maybe she had imagined that Roger would be under her balcony, like something out of the play she had loved so much.

She scooted off the banister peered over the railing, "Roger?"

He was hidden in the shadows cast from the wall and the overhead-balcony, but she would recognize his high, chiseled cheekbones anywhere. She smiled; her heart turning over in her chest, "What are you doing here? If my parents catch you out here, they're going to be pissed!"

"The cab broke down at the end of your driveway," Roger called back up to her, "I had to see you."

"My dad will never let me talk to you again if he catches you down there," she bit her lip in worry, "but I'm glad that you're here."

"Nothing I'm wearing it too bright to give off a reflection in the shadow, I can just wait here and talk to you until I hear Collins looking for me, then I'll go," he was smiling at her. Inwardly, she was sighing as a hopeless romantic, her own fairy-tale come true as the handsome prince sat below her window and courted her.

_Wait, he was below my window the whole time!_

"How did you know which window was mine?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't," although the darkness obscured it, Mimi knew that Roger was blushing, "I was sitting on your deck, thinking of some way to get a hold of you, when the light in your room came on and you walked outside onto the balcony."

"Crafty," she laughed, "it's hard to whisper from a story above you, but I guess you can hear me just fine since you were eavesdropping on my thoughts."

"Well, if you're going to speak your thoughts aloud for the rest of the class to share," Roger smiled. Her heart flipped again, and her breath shortened. She wouldn't faint; she was used to being breathless from extended dancing or singing on stage, but the absence of oxygen that robbed her now was different from over-exertion… it was a hopeless loss of breath that made her light headed and giddy, that caused her brain to pull up small glimpses of the few precious moments she'd spent in Roger's company to reflect and moon over, like some love-sick girl.

_Love-sick girl?_

Could she really be feeling the onset of love? Had she ever been in love before? She couldn't recall feeling this way, not with Benny—who had certainly expressed his unyielding love for her, regardless of his marriage to Allison Grey—or any other boy she'd been with throughout high school. No, this feeling was so new, so untried…

"I'm freaking crazy," she whispered aloud.

"What?" Roger asked, confused by her sudden quiet, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Mimi shook her head to clear her thoughts, "I was just thinking—do you think we're moving too fast?"

"What? Moving too fast how?"

"I mean, kissing in the garden after having only known each other for a few minutes' time—"

"_You_ kissed _me_!"

"—and today on the porch, that was really intense; not saying that I didn't enjoy it, because I did—"

"Yeah, it was pretty deep," Roger's shoulders slumped a little, and Mimi's heart sank.

"No, I don't mean that I don't want this," she faltered for words, "but I don't want us to rush into anything when we've only just met."

"So wise for someone so young," Roger half-smiled, nodding in consent with her comment.

"You aren't that much older than me," Mimi rolled her eyes, laughing at how Roger had turned her serious situation into something subtly comical, which reminded her that she still hadn't answered the question that needed answering the most, "What're we going to do?"

"I'd like to continue seeing you," Roger said seriously. Mimi's heart fluttered to life again, and she nodded.

"I'd like that, too."

"And I think we should get to know each other before we jump into anything serious," Roger added for what Mimi believed was good measure.

"I totally agree," although she knew that even if he remained a complete stranger to her, she'd still take him.

"Why don't we get together tomorrow? There's this great café near where I live—"

"In Massachusetts?" Mimi's eyebrow rose again, knowing now that he had been lying all along, "You aren't really a teacher, are you?"  
--------------------------------------  
Roger's worst fear had come to light; the truth was out now, and would Mimi still accept him, regardless of his less-than-comfortable lifestyle? Not to mention that he— he couldn't bring himself to think about _that_, not now, not underneath her balcony caught up in his own charade.

He hung his head, all his thoughts surfacing as defeated, pride-wounded vindication; _had she run me around just to find out if I was lying to her? Does she really even like me, or has this all been some huge game?_

"Roger, it's okay," she gave him an affectionate smile, and he felt all the more ashamed that she could see his upset, "I knew it all along, and it doesn't bother me. If you heard anything I'd said earlier, you would've heard that it doesn't matter to me what you do or don't do for a living."

That's right!

Eavesdropping from beneath the wicker chair, he _had_ heard her say that status didn't make the man; and that no matter what he really was, she would still like him. He raised his head and looked up the length of the wall, catching her dark eyes with his own, and held her gaze.

"I play—played—in a band, some gigs at a few bars around town, making a little bit of money here and there," Roger explained quietly, "then some stuff happened and I couldn't find the inspiration anymore. I didn't want to play, I didn't want to sing; I wanted to just hide away to escape the pain."

"Oh, Roger," the hurt in her voice was tangible, as if she somehow could relate to the things he'd gone through over the last few months.

"I hadn't been out of the house in months until Halloween, when Mark and Collins dragged me here practically kicking and screaming," he gave a small laugh, remembering how pissed he had been as he threw on that ridiculous Don Juan costume and trudged somberly into the thick of the party, "but then I met you and—"

"Everything changed." They said in unison.

"Mimi? Are you still awake?"

A voice that sounded uncannily like Mrs. Marquez' broke through their shared moment of silent understanding.

"Shit! It's my mom," Mimi called.

"Roger!"

Collins voice carried across the acreage, echoing through the trees.

"Shit! There's Collins," Roger turned in the direction the voice had come from, "I've gotta go."

"Hey!" Mimi called to his retreating back, and he circled to face her, "I want to see you again; tomorrow; at that café."

"It's the Life Café, off of Avenue B," Roger smiled, his whole body thrumming with anticipation for tomorrow, "'say… one?"

"Sounds great!"

"Mimi, what're you doing outside? It's almost midnight!"

"Gotta go," Mimi called out, "Be careful!"

She turned away from him and walked inside, closing her balcony doors behind her, shutting herself away from him for the night. He breathed a sigh, not realizing that he'd been holding his breath almost the entire time. She made him feel so different, causing him to do the strangest things, the most out-of-character things. He shook his head; it didn't matter, and more so, he didn't care.

"Roger!"

Collins voice was getting progressively louder, which meant that he was walking around the grounds in search for him. If he was heard by somebody in the house, they could get caught and then there would be trouble, not only for them, but possibly for Mimi and Angel, who had invited them along in the first place.

Roger took off at a run across the grounds and didn't stop, though it pained him as a person who had smoked like a stack for the last few years, until he'd reached Collins.

"Where the hell did you go?" he asked impatiently, "Man, I have been worried sick!"

"You sound like my mother," Roger laughed between taking gulps of oxygen to ease his panicked heart rate, "and I needed to tell Mimi something."

"You know, she and her parents think you're a teacher from Massachusetts; you can't just show up here after tonight," Collins said quietly, sadly, as if he felt guilty for having thrown the charade out there.

"That's what I needed to tell her," Roger sighed, finally relaxed, as Collins ushered him into the rescuing cab, "I came clean to her; told her everything."

"And how did she take it?"

"We're meeting tomorrow at the Life Café," Roger grinned from ear to ear, glad he was able to say that, "and we're going to get to know each other better."

"Well," Collins smiled wryly, "If it's anything like how Angel and I got to know each other better, I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."  
--------------------------------------  
Ah, the balcony scene! Not nearly as long as it could've been, but it worked for the situation and the setting of the rest of the story. I really dragged this scene out, but I think that overall, it was worth it. I got in a lot more detail and a lot of background story, which will definitely help as this progresses towards the end.

I've got a lot of spare time at work and at home, so I might be able to turn out a few more chapters in the next two weeks... but Fall Semester starts on the 28th, and from there, I'm not sure how much time I will have to work on the story, but don't worry! I WILL continue on, no matter how long it takes. I hope that all you loyal readers will stick with me, regardless of time. All that I write is for you!

So, leave me your thoughts and comments.


	10. Act II, Scene iii

Okay, I couldn't stand it. I've been so dreadfully disappointed with the turn out of Act II, Scene iii that I had to sit down and rewrite it. When I posted it originally, I knew in my heart that it was rushed, distracted, and down-right pathetically stereotypical. A certain reviewer, the awesome Chamomile Lady, who has always been very kind in her reviews, was nice enough to point out how I might not have viewed the situation from enough angles. Upon further contemplation, and a well-thought out response, I decided that a change was needed. So, here is that change.

* * *

Sunday dawned gloomy; gentle raindrops slid down the windows of the dimmed flat, traced paths across the panes, and brought a soothing sort of tempo to what would have been a hurried morning. 

He'd been awake for some time; took a shower, changed into something comfortable for the trip home, and had started a pot of steaming coffee to bring some warmth to his aching bones. He'd felt so old, lately, the way his joints popped and creaked, the way his back was prone to sharp jolts of pain at random intervals. Sitting at the counter, inhaling the steaming brew, he felt some trickles of relief settle over him.

A barely-there knock at the door drew his attention. He walked across the room and opened the door to greet the Landlord's eight year old son, who held a pyramid of dirty newspapers in his small arms.

"Good morning, Sir," the little boy said shyly, "would you like a copy of today's newspaper?"

"That would be great," Collins smiled warmly, remembering his brief stint as an elementary educator before he moved onto his passion; teaching over-zealous young adults about computer-age philosophy, "How much?"

"Free, Sir," the little boy smiled as he tried to situate the papers.

"Here," Collins plucked a newspaper from the top of the stack, tucking it underneath his arm while he withdrew a dollar bill from his wallet, "Take this; keep it, buy yourself some candy."

The boy's eyes lit up and he smiled a broad grin, "Thanks, Mister!"

Collins chuckled as he closed the door, turning around to find Roger walking slowly from his bedroom into the bathroom. He shook his head before returning to the counter and pouring himself a cup of coffee, sipping it straight and relishing in the heat of the liquid.

"Who was at the door?" Roger asked hoarsely, yawning and stretching his arms above his head as he took a seat at the oversized, aluminum table.

"Landlord's kid brought the paper," Collins tossed the rolled up bundle of news onto the table next to his friend's hands. He was surprised to find Roger awake and functioning at eight o' clock; they hadn't gotten back to the apartment until well after one in the morning, and while Collins had forced himself to life at a quarter-past six to be ready in time to catch the metro to the train station, he'd figured that Roger would sleep his day away. He smiled and waved his mug as if to tease Roger, "Can I tempt you?"

Roger returned his grin and nodded, "Yeah, coffee sounds great."

"What's got you up so early?" Collins asked, pouring the inky substance into a clean, red mug, "I figured you'd be out until noon at the earliest."

"Couldn't sleep," Roger said as he took the mug and sipped lightly, swallowing and letting out a small, "Ah," in gratitude.

"Ah, I see. Excited about your meeting with Miss Marquez?" Collins wiggled his eyebrows, taking a spot across the table and unfolding their battered newspaper.

"Mostly excited, a little nervous," Roger rattled off before taking another sip of coffee.

"You're _nervous_? You snuck around their house in the dead of night without fear of getting caught by her corporate-mogul of a father, without worry that you might end up in jail before the night was through, just to see her," Collins didn't even look up from the Metropolitan section, "how can you be nervous?"

"Hah, you'd think that after all the trouble I went through to get underneath her balcony last night, I'd be perfectly okay with lunch at the Life Café," Roger half laughed, "but there's just something about her, about being around her; I feel a familiarity, I feel comfortable. It's hard to _not_ be nervous when you're so shocked by how 'at home' you feel with someone you've just met."

"She's a very beautiful and talented woman," Collins nodded, "and she has a knock-out smile."

"Yeah," Roger said distractedly, his mind wandering on to the curve of Mimi's lips as she gave him that wry and knowing smile when he'd been found out, "you know, her smile reminds me of—"

The smile faded, and Roger's love-sick gaze quickly changed into something almost painful. Collins knew what it was that had broken the moment and it went without saying. _April_.

Roger gazed into the depths of his coffee with much concentration while Collins stayed silent; what was there that he could say that could erase the memory of that fluorescent-haired girl and her deceptive smile? She'd rolled into their lives so much like a storm, cutting across the skies and lingering longer than was necessary, and was gone just as quickly as she'd come, leaving devastation in her wake. And all the while, she wore a smile that conned Roger into believing in hope, while she steadily destroyed everything they'd worked for.

_And poor Roger, still recovering from her death—_

Suddenly, an idea sparked in Collins' mind; _"It's hard to _not_ be nervous when you're so shocked by how 'at home' you feel with someone you've just met."_ How much 'at home' _did_ Roger feel with Mimi? Was it her youthful glow, her Bohemian sense of style, passion for life, and somewhat inspiring knowledge far beyond her age that had reeled Roger in, much in the same way that he'd been bewitched by April? Granted, they weren't moving nearly as quickly; a few exploratory kisses paled in comparison to Roger's confession of getting 'caught in the heat of the moment,' in the most unflattering sense of the word, after having only known April for a few days… but even then, Roger's eyes had shone brighter, with some sort of glaze of expectancy.

Quickly, Collins scanned his memories of the last two days, trying desperately to dig up any sort of sensory image that showed Roger's face… and certainly, his fears were affirmed; Roger had those same eyes when he spoke about Mimi.

_Oh no_, he thought sadly, _he's rebounding…_

"Roger," he prompted carefully, putting out his hand to rest comfortingly on Roger's shoulder, "maybe you should call Mimi and reschedule your meeting."

"What?" Roger asked, a mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt slipping across his features, "Why?"

"It's only been a couple of months since—well, you know—and I don't want you to rush into another relationship if you're still grieving."

"I'm not rushing into anything," Roger stated indignantly, "we're meeting for lunch. That's it."

"I know you're meeting for lunch," Collins stated impatiently, "what I meant is that you're going into this meeting with romantic implications; you're getting to know one another because you intend to date her, am I right?"

Roger said nothing, which Collins took as an agreement before he continued, "I teach philosophy, Roger; albeit, it has nothing to do with romanticism and its focus on a person's emotions, but I took enough psychology courses in college to be able to dissect you all, and I can see that when you look at Mimi, you see the things you found attractive in April."

Roger opened his mouth to retort, and Collins put up a hand to stop him, "Before you bite my head off, you should hear me out.

"I'm not discouraging you from doing what will make you happy, but I want you to be conscious of the fact that you may be rebounding from your relationship with April. If you go into this thing with Mimi with all the feelings you're still carrying around for April, they may transfer over and appeal to you in a negative light; all you'll be able to see is the hurt that April caused you, and after a while, you'll end the relationship and be bitter again."

"That's ridiculous!" Roger pushed his stool back from the table, turning away from Collins and walking to the window, "Mimi and April are nothing alike."

"You said it a minute ago; Mimi's smile reminds you of April's."

"I never said that it reminded me of April's," Roger pouted, staring down onto the busy streets of Alphabet City.

"I knew what you meant by the look in your eyes," Collins remarked quietly, standing and moving just behind Roger, "Look, man, I'm told you that I'm not discouraging you from—"

"You had better not," Roger whirled, glaring at him in anger, "You've hounded me every day for the last couple of months to find something to preoccupy my time, to get me out of the house and to take away from all the attention I was placing on April—"

"I hounded you for obsessing over it," Collins said evenly, "because it was tearing you apart; you couldn't do anything more for her than you already had!"

Roger turned away again, his anger quelling at the truth, and Collins knew that he wouldn't fight his opinion, "I'm not saying that you couldn't love Mimi. I just don't want you to jump into this and find out down the road that you don't want the relationship because of the things that Mimi could represent for you." Collins sighed, searching for the right words and hoping that Roger would grow to understand.

"Don't lecture me, Collins," Roger said, though his voice was defeated, "I don't love Mimi. Not yet; maybe not ever."

Collins was at a loss for words; he hadn't really expected Roger to take his comments so literally, for love from Roger was not easily earned and therefore hard to come by.

"You always read about suicides in the paper," Roger whispered quietly, "but you never read about the person, about the type of person they were.

"When they printed April's obituary, there wasn't much more than her name and age; no one she'd left behind, no one to survive her. It's almost ironic."

Collins felt all the sadness in his words as though it were a weight in his arms, and forced himself to remain quiet, to simply listen. Roger continued, "You always hear about people committing suicide as being weak or selfish; 'they weren't strong enough to handle such-and-such,' or 'they're so selfish; they never thought about all the people that would be hurt by their actions,' and I never used to agree with those outlooks… until April.

"It's so cliché to say that, but it's the truth. When we found out that she'd contracted AIDS, something changed inside of her; she used to be so passionate about living, she wanted to see it all, do it all, risking danger so long as it proved she was stronger—and she became so consumed by the knowledge that her life would be cut short by this incurable cancer, she gave up. She simply called it quits, even though the clinics around town were offering treatments and support groups, even though they offered a chance at beating the disease, she felt like there was no use, no hope.

"That's what hurt the most, I think; for all her talk of coming out on top, of proving herself to be more than what people expected of her, to be a stronger person to have gone through the thick and thin of things… what hurt the most is that she let her hopelessness ruin her, not that she bled herself dry in a bathroom."

Collins heart was breaking, and he reached out and tried to comfort his long-time friend, but Roger moved away and continued on in his story.

"I had tried for weeks to convince her to fight, to not let this obstacle be the one to break her stride; I wasn't going to let it tear me down. For so long, I'd believed that I could accomplish anything, and I was going to fight. I wanted to be able to fight alongside her, to see her come out on top, like I intended to," Roger stopped and drew in a sharp breath, exhaling slowly, "I had so much hope, because she would smile and nod and say that she'd try—but she only got worse until she felt like she couldn't see a reason to keep going; she always said, 'I'm going to die, anyway.'"

Collins could see in the reflection of the glass in the windows that Roger was crying, and he moved quickly enough to ensure that Roger couldn't get away. Collins enveloped him in a brotherly hug, holding on while Roger cried on his shoulder, comforting him when nobody else could.

"I'm still fighting," Roger sniffed, "Every day, I fight the urge to give up. Halloween night, I found a reason to keep on going. I'm not going to this lunch with Mimi because of the similarities I've found; I'm going because I want to come out of this on top."

Roger broke out of Collins' embrace and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. Collins took the opportunity to look to the clock, where the red buttons displayed eight-thirty-four as the time.

"I need to be heading out," he sighed, "I've got to catch the metro to the station."

"I'll come with you," Roger offered, retreating to his bedroom and donning a pair of naturally deconstructed jeans before moving to the coat-rack to grab his leather jacket.

"To Massachusetts?"

"To the station, to see you off," Roger half-laughed, trying to cover up his embarrassment for his moment of weakness, "Where's Mark?"

"Maureen is planning a protest," Collins shrugged, moving around to the side of the couch where his suitcase sat, "She's heard that Benny is trying to wipe out Tent City and build up a cyber studio; wants to get as many of the residents of Alphabet City involved as she can."

"Sounds like Maureen," Roger rolled his eyes, "So, why did she need Mark?"

"She needed him to check over her sound system to make sure that it's all in working order, or that she can order the replacement parts, before she starts rehearsing," Collins cracked an imaginary whip, "Whoopshh! Whoopshh!"

Roger laughed, and Collins was grateful that the strain of the overly emotional moment-come-by had left them, "Some things never change."

* * *

Once they reached the station, after a long and jostling ride on the metro, Collins and Roger embraced and said their goodbyes. Before he got too far past the turnstile, he turned and found Roger waiting, dutiful and brotherly. 

"Hey, Roger," he called, "Do me a favor?"

"Sure." Roger called back, shrugging with his hands still tucked inside the pockets of his jeans.

"Take things with Mimi slowly," though it was more of a command than a question, Collins knew that Roger would leave it open for interpretation, never giving a straight answer. Because of this, he elaborated on a point he knew that William Shakespeare would wholeheartedly agree with, "Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast."

Roger nodded, though it was neither an agreement or a promise, and Collins felt satisfied that the man, for all his stubborn qualities, had at least heard what'd he'd had to say.

* * *

I tried to take out some of the emo. It was really annoying, and I've found that I made Roger a bit too whiney, and while that's befitting of Romeo, it is **NOT** working for our Pretty-Boy Frontman. I hope that this chapter is better received. PLEASE let me know what you think; your input means the word to me. 

P.S. – I absolutely love, Love, **LOVE** FoodofLove, formerly TheVillageVoice, who is unbelievably amazing. I looked over her stuff and was humbled; if only I had written that well when I was younger! You're a prodigy, dear! Work it!


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